The Plowman's Tale
by Gainsborough
Summary: The tale of a simple plowman who must put aside the simple life in order to save his country.


Here begins the Plowman's Prologue

It was well-nigh the set of eventide,  
When the end of the Cook's tale was tied,  
By then we'd quit to an inn for the night,  
Where spirits and choleric wrought a fight.  
Our gentle host did across the table lunge,  
Some did attempt to courtesy scavenge.  
The wise Plowman and Parson, brothers both,  
Kept the two from bloodshed, as by an oath.  
"I am attacked for speaking in sooth,  
For does exist such hosts which are uncouth!"  
The Cook said as the Plowman held him back.  
For restraint the brothers had a strange knack.  
"No, it is you that are queerest, Roger.  
For Venus's scourge has nicked your bladder!"  
Later, after many words I won't relate,  
We did to before the hearth relegate.  
The tempers of our Host and Cook had cooled,  
Our attention by the Plowman was ruled.  
"On this night I have heard many tales,  
Of how conspirators rule and love fails."  
He said as he stirred the hearth fire,  
With an iron rod in an odd gyre.  
"I have yet to hear of true love this night.  
It's not a commodity, nor a blight."  
"Then tell a tale, if you're so inclined."  
Said our Host, most probably to be kind.  
"Though I am not versed in meter or rhyme,  
I think this won't be a waste of your time.  
So, if you'll forgive my unskillful prose,  
I will tell a tale bereft of woes."

Here Begins The Tale of The Plowman

My story begins in the early days of that great state which  
is long vanished and much lamented. A state of such grace and  
magnificence that I doubt we will see the like of again.  
I speak of none other than the Republic of Rome; many years  
before the ascension of Caesar, and not long after Tarquin, the last  
of the seven Kings, had been dethroned.  
On a small farm within the city walls, a boy was growing up. He  
had been a simple farmboy his entire life; the scope of his ambition  
didn't wander outside the simple and pleasant life of a farmer.  
From the spring mornings; fresh and full of vigor, to the early evenings  
of Autumn, with the light of the fading sun turning the fields the color  
of blood; the man did his work in solitude and privacy.  
There were moments during the year, when he stopped with his work and  
stared off into the distance. The dampness of his brow and the soreness  
of his shoulders were forgotten as he looked upon the results of his works.  
He felt a moment of stillness, a time when everything in the universe  
seemed to be in its proper place; a moment when it seemed that he  
finally understood why everything was like it was. It passed after a  
moment, and he went back to work; but moments like this he never forgot.  
Neither the greatest senator or most famous general of the time, or any  
time, could gain a moment like that; no matter how hard they tried.

Only once in his entire life did he want for something that he did  
not already have-and that was for the love of a woman.  
He met her during his 17th year when he was taking his father's  
crops to market. She was a strong woman; in both body and mind; as  
was she spiritually sound.  
Her visage was as plain and smooth as a stone; but for those who  
had the right kind of sight could see that this stone was sitting  
in a beam of sunlight, which brought out and heightened every  
feature. And yet this sunlight did not come from without; it came  
from within-for it was the light of wisdom, courtesy, and boundless  
love. So many people in this world passed her by and turned away their  
gaze because they were incapable of seeing it.  
Thus was Nebulosa; and from the moment that they first spoke, the man  
realized that he was in love. He had heard of worldly ways, in which  
someone allows their nether regions to make their decisions for them;  
called by the greybeards as "love at first sight". The man would not  
allow himself to believe it; yet everytime he saw Nebulosa, he felt  
that same stillness; she seemed to carry an almost visible aurora around  
her, and it was only increased when she spoke.  
It was not the power of Venus or the sting of Cupid's bolt which made  
him feel this way. It was an admiration, a feeling of longing to be  
like her; to find himself worthy of her.  
And yet he never did: for even though she was nothing more than a  
farmer's daughter, he found his spirit weak, and he pursued her naught.

The man's father passed into retirement and handed the farm over to  
his son. The son worked hard every day of the year, except for at  
Saturnalia. Every night as he closed his eyes, his last thoughts were  
of Nebulosa, and her greatness. When he opened his eyes in the first  
light of day, he thought of her also.  
The man became renowned for his work ethic and apparent wisdom. Whenever  
his countrymen had a complaint to bring before the senate, they chose  
the man to speak for them. Although he didn't like the atmosphere of  
the senate chamber, he took up the task because none of his countrymen  
would. More often than not, the Senate listened to his concerns.  
As for Nebulosa; they spoke whenever he brought his crops to market; the  
man pretended to not remember her name. He hurt deep inside when she gave  
him a scornful look-but he couldn't allow himself to get close, because he  
believed well in the concept of courtly love; even in that immoderate  
and barbaric age.  
In his twenty-seventh year he did hear of her pending engagement to the  
son of a reeve (for even in those days were there such as he). It was  
quite a coup, he was told, and some questioned if the man would rise to  
the same heights as his father. But when they met and held discourse  
with his wife-to-be, their doubts evaporated.  
The man continued to plow his fields, and when he took pause to look at  
the setting sun, he considered the situation. He felt no bitterness,  
but only happiness for his true love. She would be happy, and that was  
all that he needed. He would be safe, happy, and confident in his own  
esteem. That was enough.

During this time, the Romans had been fighting an insidious group of  
barbarians called the Aequi.  
Many were the horrible tales of their sacking and pillaging that echoed  
through the darkened halls of the taverns at night.  
The senate knew that it was only a matter of time before the Aequi became  
a danger to Rome, the head of the eagle itself.  
They made the fateful decision to take action, and sent forth a massive  
force of the best of Rome's soldiers and generals. Also along were not a  
few senators, who wanted the glory of saying they had been there when  
the barbarians were ultimately destroyed.  
The man and most of his fellow farmers had long since finished their  
military service; and didn't feel compelled to reenlist for a modicum  
of fame. They followed the example of the man, who seemed to be wiser  
than most of those who were going to war.  
Pecunius, who was to be Nebulosa's husband, and his father were halted  
from going by their little fame and lack of military expertise.  
The man thanked the heavens for this, for he did not want Nebulosa to  
become a premature widow (even if they were not, as yet, married).

The army, which was many-splendored, marched out into the countryside.  
They sought glory and fortune, the annihilation of a menace to the  
public safety was only a tertiary concern.  
They fought many battles along the countryside. Many on both sides  
died. As they fought, one would often see the Senators sitting on  
chairs, fanning themselves and drinking wine as their countrymen  
fought and died.  
Some battles raged on for entire days; it was not uncommon for a  
soldier to die of exhaustion. Nor was it rare to see a battle occurring  
by the light of the moon, or where one was incapable of seeing their  
opponent.

In Rome, the man and his friends heard the stories that the couriers  
brought home. Stories of courage, battle, and glory. The man shrugged  
them off and continued with his work, while the rest of his countrymen  
chortled long into the night; wishing that they were at their friend's  
side.  
Pecunius was enraged by the knowledge that this was taking away attention  
from his own upcoming wedding. Because of this, he planned to make it  
one of the most elaborate weddings in the history of the Republic.  
He spent most of his father's fortune (for his father had agreed to  
foot the bill for his son's wedding) hiring jesters, jugglers,  
minstrels, and acting troupes.  
Many times did the father look at his ledger and feel an ache in his  
stomach and his head.  
It was enough to make Nebulosa scratch her head at all the attention  
that her betrothed was heaping upon the wedding. She thought that  
their love should have been enough to impress anyone.  
When she made her sentiments known to him, he replied thus: "Oh, my  
fair rose, my wonderful beauty, you are so naive in the ways of the  
world."  
This did little to endear him to her.

At that time, deep in the wilderness, the army of the glory-hungry  
and famous did pass the foot of Mount Algidus.  
The generals, when they met after meals in their tent, commented  
on how they were running out of savages to slay.  
Both the Generals and the politicians felt sorrow at this fact;  
for their hunger for fame had not even begun to be sated.  
The leaders chose to enter into the dark woods on the other side  
of the mountain-to pursue the barbarians to their very root.  
One man in the camp did dare to question their counsel-for he  
believed that with no supply lines and no conceivable escape route,  
that their effort might lead to doom.  
The knight who spoke, who no histories remember the name of, was cut  
down as a traitor, his corpse left to rot in the dust.  
The army of fame marched into the dark wood of error.

The man who this story is a chronicle of took his crops to market  
that very same day.  
He did see Nebulosa there that day, as she was in town buying material  
for her wedding dress. She wore a wimple to keep back the cold autumn air.  
She wore also a stunning scarf of deep blue and yellow stripes.  
As she did seem in some distress, the man asked her what ailed her.  
Nebulosa felt an inclination to tell the man of all her woes; but  
a moment's thought halted her. Why should she tell of her woes to this  
man, who hadn't even remembered her name for six years?  
"It is none of your business, kind sir," she said with a snort. She  
then turned her back to the man and went about her business.  
The man let out a sigh, shrugged his shoulders, and continued on his  
way.  
But he felt a coldness rushing through his chest, and an ache that he  
couldn't quite place.

The Roman army continued its march into the woods. For the better part  
of a day, they saw nothing at all.  
But as the sun was sinking below the tops of the trees, they met up  
with a small group of barbarians. The barbarians turned tail and ran  
back from whence they came.  
The army rushed after them, heading back towards Mount Algidus. It  
was nigh midnight by the time they broke from the forest.  
When they climbed across the mountain, they discovered a massive  
army-verily the entirety of the Aequi clan, waiting for them on  
the other side.  
They turned to flee, but they found a army of that proportion then  
again coming out of the woods.  
The army of fame found itself trapped between a rock and two raving  
bands of savages.  
They fought bravely, but only the sheer mass of their army kept them  
from being completely decimated.  
They dispatched every courier that they had, to break through the  
Aquei defense and make it back to Rome.  
In sooth, only one survived, and limped back to his homeland.

Unaware of the danger to both her city and countrymen, Nebulosa  
was picking apples in her father's orchard.  
It was late in the afternoon, and the sun had already set, the  
Harvest Moon rising to take its place.  
The apples had changed from a tangy verdant hue to become a luscious  
almost-golden red; one could doubt that the apples of Hesperia could  
have been more beautiful.  
The entire orchard was full of the bouquet of some of the shattered apples.  
However, the smell was shut out by that of Nebulosa's own melancholy.  
Her mouth tasted not the sweet golden nectar of the harvested apples,  
but of the salt of tears.  
The plowman, who was passing by her orchard on the way back from the  
tavern, did hear a dolorous sound. And, being unable to ignore the sound  
of any of God's creatures in pain, followed the sound to its source.  
He found her, prostrate in the orchard, crying into her hands; the  
basket of apples she had picked laying beside her forgotten.  
The man felt as if a dirk had pierced his heart; he ran to his unknowing  
love and kneeled by her side.  
"What vexes you, my lady?" He asked; pulling his handkerchief from his  
pocket for her to dry her eyes.  
"My betrothed Pecunius," she said in a dolorous tone. "There is too little  
love in him. He has so little for himself, and almost none for me."  
The plowman nodded silently. He had long ago learned that a man who hated  
himself oft spread his affliction to those around him.  
"He is concerned so much with the preparations to our wedding; on how it  
will look to others. Yet he has completely ignored the most important  
part-the one that he is being married to."  
The plowman saw an opportunity; a chance to tell Nebulosa of what he had  
been feeling since they met as children. But the plowman was a man of  
true righteousness, and he couldn't avail himself of the opportunity.  
"Pecunius is a man of symbols and airs," the plowman explained. "It doesn't  
matter if he has someone who loves him unless other people know it. You  
shouldn't believe that he doesn't love you because of that."  
The plowman did again feel the coldness in his shoulders and chest. It was  
a chill that cut to his very soul.  
For the first time in his life, the plowman found himself in a moment of  
weakness. He had never before questioned his mode of comportment in this  
matter. Yet he found the words he had kept in his heart almost leaping out  
of his mouth.  
Just as he was about to tell her, their came from the road a sound of  
someone breathing heavily and stumbling along.  
Being afraid of brigands or some such, the plowman grabbed a large twig  
from a pile of sticks on the ground and rushed towards the road.  
On it he found a courier who was wounded and mortally exhausted.  
The courier fell to the ground, and the plowman caught him.  
"Rest easy, son," the plowman said. "What is the matter?"  
The courier told him, in between gasps, of what had happened on Mount  
Algidus. Then he breathed his last and died.

The plowman bade his secret love good night and ran all the way to the  
senate building-in which the senate was holding a late session.  
The senate leaders were at first aghast as his impudence, but then they  
heard what he had to say; and they were at wits end to discover a remedy  
to the situation.  
For none of those who remained knew the ways of war. All the retired generals  
and soldiers who were in the senate had taken part in the battle.  
In desperation, one of the leaders remembered the plowman, who in their  
haste they had forgotten to dismiss. They asked him if he had served in a  
military campaign.  
"I served my country during my youth, as is required of all patriotic  
citizens," the plowman replied.  
One of the leaders rose from his seat and called for attention. "We are  
civilian leaders-in a time such as this, a military leader is needed.  
For this situation is every bit as grave as the situation that Athens  
faced when they gave such power to Solon. We do hereby give that power  
to you-you are now the dictator of Rome."  
The plowman was aghast; he had never wanted for power or fame. Now that  
he had it, he had no idea what to do with it.  
However, he knew well that refusing this would be turning his back on  
his senate and countrymen, and thus an act of treason. He simply nodded  
to the senate leaders, told them that he would do his best, and made his  
way back to his farm.

He pulled out his armor and sword from where he had left them to rest in  
his barn. He then went to the neighboring farm, and asked all the men  
there if they would serve in their country's time of need.  
They knew the plowman well, and respected him; all he had to do for  
compliance was ask.  
By the time of dawn, the plowman had visited almost every farm inside the  
wall of Rome. Never in any case had he left a farm without a recruit.  
However, a miller had heard of his recruiting efforts and had taken a  
mallet to his kneecap to disqualify himself. The plowman had simply nodded  
at his refusal, and left without a word.  
After he was finished with the farm, he went alone into the city to recruit  
others.  
Pecunius had heard of the recruiting effort and ran forth to meet him as  
he passed through the arch leading into the city.  
Pecunius was very eager for fame and title, and knew that serving in the  
plowman's army would finally get him both. He told the plowman that he would  
eagerly join him.  
The plowman stopped, and again he felt the cold dagger stab his heart.  
"I cannot allow you to march with us," the plowman said.  
Pecunius got angry and shouted insults at the plowman. The plowman continued  
his journey into the city, but Pecunius and his insults were always close  
at his heels.  
Finally the plowman stopped and turned to him. "I will not allow you to fight  
with us, because I don't want to make Nebulosa a premature widow."  
Pecunius looked at the plowman in disgust, and then marched off without another  
word.  
The plowman found fewer recruits within the city wall; very few wanted to die  
for Rome; fewer respected the man who still stank of the fields.  
Pecunius's cook had vanished earlier that morning, so was not there when the  
plowman came to call. He later learned that the cook had told Pecunius that he  
needed to go outside the city walls to collect some special spices for the  
wedding feast. He was never seen again, and it is commonly said that he was  
ripped apart by wolves as he tried to flee the city which he feared would soon  
fall.  
By the fall of night they were ready to leave, and marched off under the slowly  
ebbing Harvest Moon.

An army can never march as fast as a courier can run, so the roman army had to  
endure the onslaught of the savages.  
They usually attacked during the night, allowing the bulk of the Roman troops  
to sleep through the day. But this also meant that most of the time they were  
incapable of seeing the person that they were at war at; especially in the  
waning light of the Harvest Moon.  
It was nothing less than miraculous that they survived for as long as they  
did. Yet something even more miraculous was occurring on that mountain.  
The generals, politicians, and others who had lived for fame realized something.  
They finally discovered that glory and power were nothing; for they were  
fleeting, ethereal. Not one of them had ever known true peace or love in their  
lives.  
Unfortunately, they had realized their mistakes too late, it seemed. This  
knowledge would be useless to them, as they would never leave the mountain  
alive.  
Many died during the night, and even some during the day; and it seemed as if  
they were in hell already. Yet never once did they doubt that they deserved  
it.

It was on the night that the last sliver of the Harvest Moon was ebbing away  
into blackness that it happened. Suddenly there were fewer and fewer of the  
savages besieging their flanks. And suddenly they heard a thousand voices  
scream out a chant.  
This would have made their blood cold, but this time it made their hearts  
soar-for this chanting was in Latin: their native tongue.  
The Aequi armies tried to flee into the dark wood; but the combined armies  
chased them down, and made them pay dearly for their stratagem.  
Less than a dozen Aequei made it back to their homeland; and it was only  
a matter of time before the other tribes that they had bullied came after  
them. Within half-a-dozen years, the Aequi were wiped off the face of the  
Earth. And not a single soul anywhere mourned their passing.

During the new moon, the combined armies celebrated their victory on the  
mountain; they sent back couriers to Rome that they would know of their  
triumph.  
The two Consuls deferred to the plowman, and offered him a dictatorship  
for life: for they believed that no one could lead as well as he could.  
The plowman simply shook his head, and said that it was not the life  
for him.  
They tried to appeal to his sense of vanity; which was difficult because he  
had none. Finally they were able to convince him to remain in charge of  
the army until they returned to Rome. They made plans to ply his attitude  
and make him their leader in the meantime.

Back in Rome, the wedding of Pecunius was canceled. Having heard the  
couriers, Pecunius could not accept the chance for fame that he had been  
deprived of. And like all great men, he blamed his consort for the problems.  
He told her what the plowman had told him, and screamed at her for depriving  
him of such a chance. Nebulosa couldn't find it in her to cry.  
Pecunius lead a trite and meaningless life-standing for consul a few years  
hence, and losing by a wide margin. He finally married a woman who could  
pleasure him well, bought an obscenely large farm in one of Rome's territories,  
and lived the rest of his life in a drunken haze.

The army marched back to their homeland in the growing light of the Hunter's  
Moon.  
Two days into their journey, dark clouds filled the sky, and a strong wind  
whipped across the plain. Huge bolts of lightning jumped from cloud to  
cloud in the distance. After a moment, heavy drops of rain started to fall  
onto the plain. The army was being soaked by the sudden shower, but it did  
nothing to dampen their spirits. Many stripped off their armor and rushed  
around in the rain, throwing their heads back and yelling to the heights  
of heaven in victory. Even as it began to hail, the army still didn't  
consider finding shelter.  
The plowman stared at the scene, and suddenly everything locked into place.  
As he looked as his comrades dancing around in the rain, he had a realization.  
Throughout every age, from time long gone to the far distant future; there  
were moments like this. The cave dwellers in the former age had been as these  
were. The Greeks had been thus; as had Aeneas, and Romulus and all their ilk.  
So had the Aequi, when there were still enough of them to call a people.  
So would be those who followed, after he and his kind had long gone to dust; when Rome was nothing more than a memory and a name.  
In that moment of stillness, the plowman saw further than he had ever seen  
before; and when it passed he was no longer the same person. For, verily,  
are any of us the same person at the end of the day?  
They trudged through the rain-kissed grass, heading towards home.

The Hunter's Moon was full by the time they came within sight of the walls of  
Rome. These men, who had stood at death's door, and fought Hades into submission, had tears in their eyes. There has been a time when every one of them had thought that they would never see it again.  
The consuls, seeing the plowman in a thoughtful mood, again asked him to become  
dictator for life. He again refused them.  
However, this time they asked in front of his other men; who were shocked at his  
refusal. As they continued their march toward the city, his men kept trying to  
convince him to take up the mantle of leadership. If not for himself, then for  
the good of his countrymen. By the time they reached the city, the plowman found  
himself entertaining thoughts of leadership.  
As they passed through the fields towards the town, the plowman felt a sense of  
longing. If he took up the position offered him, he would have to give up his  
life here. Was it worth it, he wondered?  
As he was reaching his own farm, which was before the arch which lead into the  
inner city, he found Nebulosa waiting for him. The plowman was happy to see  
her, but felt a coldness within him when he realized that she was now married.  
"Might I speak with you, Dictator?" Nebulosa asked.  
The plowman motioned for his troops to wait and went with Nebulosa to a secluded  
location. She told him of what had become of the marriage.  
The plowman felt guilty, and apologized to Nebulosa.  
"Yet I am left to wonder why you spoke thus to him," Nebulosa said.  
The plowman started to blush with embarrassment. "I simply wanted your happiness;  
no more." he said.  
Nebulosa smiled at him. "I'm starting to think that you want more than that,"  
she said.  
The plowman grimaced, such did the thought pain him. "I would be lying if I said  
I didn't have amorous feelings for you... But propriety kept me silent."  
Nebulosa shook her head. "You are neither higher or lower than I am, kind sir.  
Or, should I say, you weren't."  
The plowman replied thus. "I doubted that you could have loved me, henceforth I  
found it better to keep silent."  
Nebulosa again smiled. "You needn't have worried,". But then she looked at the  
arch and sighed. "Yet once you cross that arch, your private life will end. Even  
if you give up being a dictator, and neglect to stand for election to the senate; you will be a hero of war. You will be a symbol to the people; and if I go with you, I would be much the same. I have had enough of that."  
The plowman was in agony, but then something occurred to him. "I am dictator of  
Rome, and thus I am able to give you anything you wish. What do you want most?"  
Nebulosa smiled. "I wanted you to stay here; with me."  
The plowman nodded. "Your wish will be granted."  
He went back to his army and pulled off the mantle of leadership that the senate  
had placed upon his shoulders. He handed it to the proconsul.  
"Go on; my army will not pass this threshold." he said. The proconsul looked on  
in dismay, but shrugged his shoulders and made his way into the city. The  
rest of the army broke up and went back to their homes.  
The plowman went to Nebulosa, and the two kissed.  
Later, she went off to tell her father of their pending marriage. The plowman  
walked back onto his field, where he had left his plow more than a month ago.  
He smiled, gripped both handles, and got to work.

The senate, in appreciation, granted the plowman another acre of land for his  
services to the Republic. The man accepted it graciously. He married Nebulosa,  
and worked hard every day for the rest of his life. He died many years later,  
content with the way he lived his life.  
That plowman's name was Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus; and now you know the  
truth of his story.

Here Ends The Plowman's Tale

It was nearing the middle of the night,  
When was ended the tale of Rome's plight.  
The Prioress did have tears in her eyes,  
And did the Wife let out one of her sighs.  
None could say that it was a bad tale,  
Except the Miller, asleep from much ale.  
"If only Caesar had been a plowman,  
He wouldn't across the Rubicon ran."  
The Plowman then took a gulp of his ale,  
Then set it down, and rose from the table.  
"Oh Come now," said our host, "Don't be banal"  
"There must be more morals to your tale."  
"It is this: though it may be great to meld,  
Still In silence is the greatest love held."  
The Plowman, being fully drunk and fed,  
Then left our presence and went to his bed.  
Thus ended the first day of our journey,  
And the first round of bouts in our tourney.

Here Ends the Plowman's Epilogue.


End file.
